The Watchmaker's Apprentice
by Spy'd R
Summary: Nightmares haunt Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and all at once, memories return, that should have been long forgotten; drowned, one might say, in the deep, dark waters of his past. Dr. John Watson, his secret lover, is almost worried to death. Things begin to form a horrible picture, when they decide to go on holiday by the seaside.
1. I

**This story was written in collabortaion with "an ounce of shag tobacco"  
Most of the characters do not belong to either of us.  
This story was inspired by the song "The Watchmaker's apprentice" by "The Clockwork Quartet"**

Thank you for reading! We hope you enjoy, and have feeeeeeels! ;)

PS: please review!  
Thanks!

* * *

Watson was woken by voices. No. It was just one voice to be precise. One single voice; mimicking and mocking itself ever louder and louder. It was the voice of a man who was as good an actor as he was adetective. Since his return from three years absence however, he was plagued by nightmares. Like some kind of lethal pestilence, they came to haunt him. What was worst for the doctor, was the fact that they were quite irregular, what made them unpredictable.

What was always the same however, was the process of those hirrible dreams. Of course Holmes had never told his friend what they were about. Not even when they finally passed the stage of friendship to become a secret couple. So it came, that John Watson lay wide awake on his mattress, on the night if December 19th in the year of 1898, waiting for the soft thump that would bring relief. The soft sound that was very well audible through the thin walls, was like a call ; as if his own name had been spoken out by his love, Sherlock Holmes, to call him and soothe his aroused, panicking spirit. Watson never dared to walk downstairs to awake him, for he knew that he would not be able to face Holmes in such a state. So when the thump came, Watson went downstairs, without putting his dressing gown on, and eventually opened the door, silent and slowly, to find Holmes, crouched beside his bed, half tangled in sheets, and his face reddened with agony and tears.

It ashamed Holmes to admit defeat in such a way. It ashamed him to need to be in the arms of another in order to feel comfort, in need of another to chase away those nagging demons. He hid his face as Watson stood at the door, sympathy plain on the doctor's features. Holmes didn't want the sympathy, he wanted company.

Watson knelt down beside his friend; completely wordless, and with the single movement he revealed Holmes' face to look deeply into his eyes.  
He had tried so many things before, that he did not know what else to do, than just be there with him, and let the silence say what neither of them dared to form into words.

Holmes did not speak, he let his face tell but that didn't say much else. He moved a little closer to John so his had could rest on his head on his shoulder.

He wanted to speak. Watson wanted to say "it's alright my love, I'm here for you."  
But he remained silent, for he knew how Holmes disliked such words.

"I'm sorry for waking you up again." Homes murmured as his fingers fiddled with the sheet of cotton he was tangled in.

"Oh. No. No, no, no. H-" Watson was not sure whether it was appropriate to call him by his first name, and decided against it.  
"Holmes. It is quite alright. Please. Do not concern yourself about that."

"This is the third time this week. Your practice isn't going to do well if patients find you asleep in your consulting room, is it?"

Watson chuckled softly. "They have to understand. I have got a patient at home...a resident patient.  
Besides, since we work together, I have gotten used to it."

Holmes sighed and nodded. "True."

"But, hey! Dread my silly old practice! What do you think of a holiday, eh? Let us just take some time off. How does that sound to you, old boy? I even let you chose the destination!"

Homes frowned. "Just below Christmas? Are you sure?"

"Very sure." Watson closed his eyes and leaded his forehead against Sherlock's, closing his eyes.  
"We can spend Christmas by the seaside...  
So where would you like to go?"

"What about Brighton?

Watson was, to be honest, a little bit astonished to hear Holmes suggesting the south. But then, this man never ceased to do so.  
"Very well Holmes! Then Brighton it shall be."

Holmes sighed again closed his eyes. "Will you stay?"

"Yes my love. I will."Watson replied, kissing Holmes gently on the forehead.

The next morning Homes had returned to his usual behaviour; Pale, cold and well presented, he returned to the calculating machine that people attributed to him. He sat by the fire smoking a pipe, his legs splayed across the rug, his hands steepled under his chin.


	2. II

**This story was written in collabortaion with "an ounce of shag tobacco"  
Most of the characters do not belong to either of us.  
This story was inspired by the song "The Watchmaker's apprentice" by "The Clockwork Quartet"**

Thank you for reading! We hope you enjoy, and have feeeeeeels! ;)

PS: please review!  
Thanks!

* * *

"What are you thinking about?" Watson asked with a yawn as he entered the living room.  
"Good morning, by the way."

Holmes puffed on his pipe for a moment before answering. "What makes you think I'm thinking about anything?"

"Well are you not? It is your bearing that speaks of it."

"What about my bearing? Explain?"

"Well...you are seating in the exact position that you often take. Your hands are folded, your eyes seem to be fixed on some imaginary point in the distance, and your expression is quite tense.  
Is it about your dreams? I know you don't like to talk about it, but I would just wish that you would tell me about it. Or if you don't want to tell me I can advise-"

"I cannot tell you... Not yet. Oh John don't look at me like that! I- When I feel ready, I will tell you." He paused, his position now changed. "You're right though, I am thinking about them. I can't help it."

"It is alright, Holmes. Hardly anyone would know better than me, how long it takes to be able to even admit those nightmares to oneself." Watson paused and looked to the ground. "When do you want to leave?"

"As soon as possible."

Two hours later, they had packed and were now seated, safe and sound in a train to Brighton. Their sole aim was to seek for recreation, but neither of them knew yet what lay before them.

They managed to find a hotel over looking the sea at a reasonable price. Their rooms were rather small, though there was a door between each room so access to each other was easier.

After settling in, and having a stroll through the town, they returned to their room(s). Watson stood looking out of the window, down on the famous peir. Holmes joined him some minuted later, hugging him from behind.

"Thank you." He said, burying his face in Watson's hair.

"For what?"

"For dropping everything and coming away with me."

Watson lay a hand upon his lover's cheek. "That is the least I can do to help you out of this dreadful state you're in, love. I know how much you dislike to hear this, but I would do anything to see you happy."

Holmes smiled. "You really are too sentimental. I love you for it."

"I love you too. For everything you are."

Holmes shuddered and stood away. "John, John, John! Too much my love, too much." He grinned and put his hands in his pockets. "I shall retire if you don't mind. To my own room... Alone. I don't wish to keep you from a full nights sleep again."

Watson sighed. "Listen, Holmes. We are here for your recreation. You need to get some rest. If my presence helps you to ease your sleep, then I shall remain at your side."

"Watson, I cannot deny I would love that, however I think it would better for a single night. Perhaps tomorrow I will join you."

"It is your desicion, Holmes. If you need me, I shall be just next door, as you know."  
Watson came closer and kissed him.  
"Good night. Sleep well."

"I shall try." Holmes muttered with a weak smile. "Good night." He turned to the door and left.

In Watson's room, sleep was nothing to even dream of. He lay, wide awake, listening to the sounds from the  
other chamber. What he heard half pleased and half worried him. The sound he heard was, apart from footsteps at the beginning, and the creaking of the bed as Holmes got in, just absolute silence.

Holmes was not in much of a different state than the man in the other room. He dared not fall asleep lest the dream return and he did not want Watson to think him weak. But his eyes were heavy and his head throbbing.

There was a point, when Watson could not bear the menacing silence anymore. What if Holmes had gone? What if his mind, deprived of sleep as it was, failed reasoning and he had gone away...into the dark, cold sea?  
no. He had simply just fallen asleep. But what if...  
Watson immediately dat upright. He had to check if all was well! Hesitating, he lit a candle and made his way over. If it was the case that Holmes had finally found some rest, he would not forgive himself should he awake him. Neither would he, if he had permit Holmes to run away. He opened the door; inch by inch, he pushed the door open, but he could not avoid creaking.


	3. III

**This story was written in collabortaion with "an ounce of shag tobacco"  
Most of the characters do not belong to either of us.  
This story was inspired by the song "The Watchmaker's apprentice" by "The Clockwork Quartet"**

Thank you for reading! We hope you enjoy, and have feeeeeeels! ;)

PS: please review!  
Thanks!

* * *

The figure in the bed sighed and rolled over to look at the door, his face illuminated by the faint candle light. "Whatever is the matter?" Holmes groaned.

Watson said nothing. He only came closer. Silently, he put the candle on the nightstand. Silently, he knelt down onto the bed. Wordless he crawled over to Holmes. Wordless, he kissed him.

Holmes frowned and wrapped an arm around him. "John are you alright?"

"How could I possibly be alright, knowing the state you are in. Oh, Sherlock..."

"I'm fine, don't worry about me. Go to bed, get some rest. Please..." Holmes murmured, stroking a thumb across John's cheek.

"I fear it is too late anyway. There will be not much use in attempting to sleep now." Watson sighed.

"Why too late? If you really want to stay in here for the night, you can."

"Thank you, Holmes. I would feel much  
better, if could stay by your side..."

Holmes opened the bed sheets to allow Watson to clamber in beside him. "Are you sure you're not ill?"

"Yes. Absolutely sure." Watson clung to his friend. He wanted at least to have the illusion of being able to protect him. However something deep, dark inside him knew that he never could.

Holmes just lay still. He didn't hold Watson back like his friend had hoped, he just lay.  
"I am fine."

A sigh. "I wish I could believe you..." he nuzzled his head into Holmes' back

"Why do you not?" Holmes asked. "They are only nightmares... Trifles."

"No. You seem to forget that I too was plagued by nightmares. I know that it's more than trifle."

Holmes sighed. "I know, I'd just prefer you to not worry. I'm not going to jump off a bridge or walk into the sea... I've battled much worse."

"I know..." Watson whispered, rolling over to face Holmes. "That is one of the few reasons why I'm not yet mad with sorrow..." he moved a hand through his partner's hair.

Holmes once again didn't say anything, just exhaled a large amount of air from his lungs.

"Let us try to get some sleep." Watson suggested. Holmes asgrred; but twenty minutes later, when Holmes seemed to finally have dozed off, the night-air was cut by a scream that came from the beach.

Like a blood hound, Holmes was up again, dressing himself a quickly as humanly possible.  
"Are you coming?" He enquired to the doctor, who was still rubbing his eyes.

Watson sighed, and cursed whatever force had caused this to happen. He hoped that his warning, reproachful glare would be enough to stop Holmes. But there was no use. The scream outside turned into a pitiful howling, sobbing and eventually cries for help. "Yes. Let me just get dressed."

"You're too slow... I'll see you down there." Holmes disappeared through the door, calling back, "Do not take too long!


	4. IV

**This story was written in collabortaion with "an ounce of shag tobacco"  
Most of the characters do not belong to either of us.  
This story was inspired by the song "The Watchmaker's apprentice" by "The Clockwork Quartet"**

Thank you for reading! We hope you enjoy, and have feeeeeeels! ;)

PS: please review!  
Thanks!

* * *

Watson silently cursed Holmes, while he desperately tried to huddle into his trousers.  
The night was cold and each breath Holmes let out left a trail of evaporation in his path. Lights and faces appeared at windows and cab drivers had halted in order to peer at the commotion. Holmes pushed himself through the throng of bystanders to yet to the beach, where he found the body of a woman, drowned in the sea, her body soaked and get eyes red and wide.

Holmes felt his chest tighten as he knelt down beside the woman. Her hair had come loose in a struggle and it clung to her hair and face. A locket was adorning her neck: gold with a turquoise stone embedded in the centre. Her dress was white, unusual for the time of year, and due to the water it was pratically transparent against her body.

Watson finally joined Holmes, but he could not get this man out of his mind. Ar first that was, because as soon as he saw the corpse, his breath stopped for some seconds.

"What do you think?" Holmes gasped, fighting for breath.  
"Dreadful. Truly dreadful. She was beautiful..." Watson too knelt down to examine her. "hmmmm...she did not drown however. She was stabbed to death...with a very fine blade. A scalpel perhaps. The death was recent. Perhaps it was even her who screamed..."  
A voice from behind interrupted him. "I'm sorry, mister but it was I who shouted for help. Beth...Beth was..."

Holmes stood up and turned to face the new arrival.  
"Is this Beth by any chance?" He managed to muster after a deep breath.  
"Yes sir." The woman began to sob. "Beth was my sister you see!"  
She burst into tears."And it was I who found 'er! Poor creature!"

"And it was you who screamed?" Holmes asked, getting impatient.

"Yes. I shouted for help. But nobody wouldn't care to help...except for you two gents..."

Homes nodded and gazed up at the crowd of people at the promenade. "Go and see if any policemen have appeared and tell them what had happened. Tell then that I, Sherlock Holmes, am here."

"You...you are the great Sherlock Holmes? My master told me about you! Please help me! Help us! You need to catch him and bring him to the gallows Mr. 'Olmes! He needs to face justice, this monster!"

"I can't."

"But...but what about your adventures? What about the millions of people you help every year? Please sir! We're not safe here anymore!"

Holmes shook his head and studied his boots. "I'm afraid I cannot pursue this case... Not under such circumstances," he muttered. "My deepest apologies."

The woman's eyes widened, and filled with tears. "No...this isn't true..." She shook her head. Then her face turned into an ugly grimmace, filled with hate. "It was him. It was the Watchmaker! It was him! And if you don't get him, I will!"  
She turned around and ran away into the darkness.

"Help me move her John." Holmes ordered, lifting Beth's under her stiffened arms.

"Holmes, why did you refuse to help this poor woman, even though you obviously take the case on?  
And who is this Watchnaker? Does it sound familiar to you?" Watson almost protested.

Holmes ignored him. "Are you going to help me or not?"  
"I wish you would answer me." Watson grumbled, kneeling down to help Holmes.

Homes rolled his eyes. "We're here for rest."

"Then I suggest we wait for the police and return to our rooms." the doctor hissed.

"What is your problem?" Holmes snapped. "You have been so insistent for me to rest that you suggested we go on a holiday and that's what we're doing."

"Yes! No... I...I don't know. I am sorry, Holmes. If this helps you, I shan't be in your way. Sorry."  
Watson stood up. He looked at Holmes and the body, then too disappeared into the darkness.

"John... Oh for heavens sake!" Holmes cursed and looked down at the body. It was unusual, wasn't it? He frowned and knelt beside it again, taking the necklace from around her neck and placing it his pocket just as a couple of policemen arrived. He spent the best half of an hour explaining what had happened and how he had no interest in the case, before he headed back into the town. But he did not return to hotel... The taverns and bars would have less of a hostile reception than a return to Watson.

But he was wrong. Half wrong, that is. He found his friend trembilng, leaned against a gaslamp; a cigarette between inex- and middle finger. He smiled as he saw Holmes.

Holmes was less smiling when he saw him. "I thought you'd be round at the hotel."

"No. I needed some air."

"You're trembling."

"It is cold. I did not want to go inside the Pub. I did not feel like it."

Holmes sighed and linked arms with him. "I am sorry. "

"It is alright. I started to wonder if it is me who should be sorry..." he let out the last clouds of smoke. In the cold air, they mingled with his breath that became visible in the cold december air.

"No, no..." Holmes waved a hand. "Should not have snapped at you in such a way."

Watson nodded. "Have you reached any conclusion?" he said that because he knew, that the only thing that would really help his lover was a case; a good one.

"I told you I'm not taking the case..." Holmes said as they began to stroll. " But yes, I have concluded certain things and arised new questions."

"Would you mind telling me more about it?"

"Well, this is of interest," Holmes started, plucking the locket from his pocket and opened it to reveal a clock. "Now I know from our walk earlier that there is a watchmaker of the name McArthur... There was, anyway. Not long ago a young man brought a timepiece from him and died not long after due to the watch exploding. McArthur was charged with murder but only just managed bail. He believed that his apprentice caused it in revenge. I read of it in the paper not that long ago and soon after read in the obituaries if Mcarthur's death."

"So...the Watchmaker is...actually the McArthur's apprentice? Do you really believe that he killed this poor girl?"

"I'm not sure of that... Not enough data."

"I see." Watson paused for a minute. "I believe that, whoever tried to kill her, wanted to poison her before...her skin had a slightly blueish colour."

"How long was she dead for? How long in the water?"

"Well...she was stabbed only shortly before we arrived...but of what I believe to have happened is that he tried to poison her, then tried to drown her. He failed and then..." Watson slightly gestured the movement of stabbing her. "just stabbed her."

Holmes stopped mid stride and raised a hand. "You did this deliberately didn't you? I'm going to have to take this case now."

"I'm what...?" Watson almost had to run now to catch up with Holmes. He was very very tired, but he was glad to see Holmes return to his own self all the same.

They reached the hotel within 5 minutes at the speed they walked at and inside Homes paced up and down.

It was almost like in before Holmes' nightmares had penetrated their lives. Watson could merely sit and watch, while Holmes brooded over endless pipes, and the case.  
Holmes stopped and watched Watson from the doorway separating their rooms. "Do sleep."  
"Alright..." Watson muttered. By bow he was too tired to think.  
But instead of retiring to his own room, he just literally fell into Holmes' bed.

Holmes smiled and moved to sit beside him, running a hand through his hair. "Bless you for being so loyal."

"mmmhhmh." was Watson's only reply.

Holmes lay beside him with a sigh. "Mmmm indeed." He murmured and closed his eyes.


	5. V

**This story was written in collabortaion with "an ounce of shag tobacco"  
Most of the characters do not belong to either of us.  
This story was inspired by the song "The Watchmaker's apprentice" by "The Clockwork Quartet"**

Thank you for reading! We hope you enjoy, and have feeeeeeels! ;)

PS: please review!  
Thanks!

* * *

He frowned and opened his eyes, a little bewildered of his surroundings.  
"Hm."

"Wake up, man! We have business to attend to!"

"Role reversal again doctor, tut tut..." Holmes yawned with a scowl. He stretched as he stood up.

Watson chuckled softly. "I thought you might say that. Now come."

Holmes smirked and headed for the door that separated their rooms. "I need to change. I shan't be long.

"Of course." Watson smiled.

Holmes was ready within ten minutes and the both of them were on their way though the town. The sea front was cordoned off by policemen and a crowd still lingered.

"Now where are we heading, Holmes?" Watson asked almost in the fashion of an excited child.

"To the Black Crow."

"the public house? Whatever is the connection to our case?"

"You'll see. This young women is quite sly... I wish to speak with her."

"Alright, Holmes." they kept on walking for a short while, until the public house came into view.  
"Ah! There it is! I hope we will have enough time to take in some food?"

Holmes rolled his eyes and pushed open the door. It was a small cosy place with pine furnishings a crimson cushionings. Stood at the bar a stout women, five-and-fifty at the least, with a haggard, wrinkly face that housed a large pair of hazel eyes.


	6. VI

**This story was written in collabortaion with "an ounce of shag tobacco"  
Most of the characters do not belong to either of us.  
This story was inspired by the song "The Watchmaker's apprentice" by "The Clockwork Quartet"**

Thank you for reading! We hope you enjoy, and have feeeeeeels! ;)

PS: please review!  
Thanks!

* * *

"What can I help you with, geltlemen? A fine ale? A Scotch? Whatever pleases you...especially you, sir." the woman chimed, pointing at Holmes.

Holmes gave a charging smile, as he pulled Watson to the bar.  
"Two pints of ale and some information." He said, placing a sovereign in front of her.

"Oh! That's very kind of you, sir, but I won't take the money unless I know what you want information about...I'm not the one to betray my friends, you see."

"You've no doubt heard of the terrible affair that took place last night. A young women, Beth I believe she was called, was murdered and I need to know the whereabouts of her sister and..."

"Beth..." the woman's eyes widened. "Who are you? You don't look like the police to me."  
Watson would have expected an angry or aggressive tone in those words, but as a matter of fact she sounded more frightened than aroused.

"I am Sherlock Holmes and this is my associate Dr Watson."

"Mr. Holmes! I heard about you! And Dr. Watson of course!  
If that is so, sir, I'll answer your questions. But not here...enjoy your drinks, and then join me in the kitchen, alright?"

Holmes nodded and turned to face the door.  
"What do you think Watson?" He asked, handing him his drink.

"It is interesting to see what effect your name has on an honest person. She would not speak ill of her friends for money, but he would tell you everything for a good cause. Despite this obstvation, I am none the wiser."

"A name that opens doors... You wouldn't believe the situations I've got out of with it." Holmes murmured with a smirk. "The girl, Beth's sister, she's here; Where exactly I don't know but I intend to find out." He raised the glass to his lips and within ten seconds the ale was gone... Holmes also.

Watson had just opened his mouth to answer when the detective was suddenly gone. Leaving the almost untouched ale behind with a frown, he stood up to join Holmes in the kitchen, as the woman had asked them to.

"You are protecting the sister, are you not?" Holmes asked, as he pulled two chairs for himself and John.

The landlady's eyes nervously scanned the room. "Yes, sir. But...but I think it's no  
good, talking to her now."

"Why not?"

"Because she's afraid...and angry, she is. She says "he won't help me."  
I say "of course he will you stupid thing. Mr. Holmes always helps the poor people. He's not like the others."  
But she wouldn't listen. says the Watchmaker will come and get her. Locks herself up in the attic, she does..."  
As she spoke, the woman became so nervous, that she seemed to lose every recollection of acceptable language.

Holmes shot Watson a look, a ' calm her down look'.  
"What can you tell me about the watchmaker?

Before responding to his question, the woman took a few deep breaths. "It is alright, Ma'am" Wataon chipped in. "Take your tine to calm down."  
She looked at him with a weak smile, showing bad teeth.  
"Thank you doctor. Well...we call him "the Watchmaker here..." she began, addressing Holmes by looking deeply into his eyes.  
"Nobody knows his name here...even though they say that he is from Brighton...they say he went to London to learn how to make clocks... but his boss threw him out for some reason. Some say he die it because he tried to kill him...his boss...but I don't believe that sir. Anyway, he returned to kill all the people who treated him badly..."

"And Beth was one of them?" Holmes interrupted.

"I don't know, sir! She's the kindest, most beautiful girl I know. I think she couldn't harm anyone, she could! Dear me...I can't imagine what she might have done to deserve the state she's in now...the poor lassie..."

Holmes pondered for a moment, his fingers steepled and his brow furrowed.  
"May I see... I do not know her name."

"Alice, sir. Alice Fowler. I will lead you to her, if it's truly necessary. But be careful. There are knifes up there..."

They were guided through a twisted corridor. At the end was a ladder that lead to the door to the attic and women knocked a pattern to let then in.

"Alice, there's somebody you should talk to. He wants to apologise."

"Miss Fowler, it is I, Sherlock Holmes."

"No. No! NO!" bellowed the faceless voice from the attic. "I won't see you! It's your fault that I'm here now! I won't talk to you! Detective! Pah!"

Holmes sighed.  
"Please madam," He started, his demeanour changed from cold to charm. "I was not myself when we last spoke and out of my selfishness I refused to help you. But I have seen passed it and hope to assist you and at no cost at all."

There was a lengthy silence.  
"Right. I'll trust you. Come up."

He pushed the door open and poked his head through before pulling himself up.  
"Thank you Miss Fowler."

She sighed a reply.

"I hope you don't mind me asking you a few questions."

"No."

"Splendid, then we'll begin. Who is the Watchmaker?"

"He...he...is our...um...my cousin."

"What else?"

"He's planned to murder his entire family. He...he" the girl shuddered. "thinks we should have helped him getting back his situation...he loved his work Mr. Holmes. He loved it and losing his job drove him mad! He always was a fragile person. Even as a boy."

"Mr McArthur... Why did you both go out on such a night... And why was Beth dressed as she was? I am no expert in womens fashion, however I see no reason for anyone to go in summer dress in the middle of December."

The girl wore a confused expression. Then she shook her head, as if she was rejecting something less important.  
"Beth and him..." she blushed and looked to the ground. "always had a more intimate relationship than cousins should have...I didn't tell nobody because she asked me to. I'd never betray my sister! Anyway, she wore that dress because we thought we might sort things out by a little romancing you see. The plan was that Beth talk to him, and I follow later...but as I come down to the pier... she's dead!"  
Alice burst into tears.  
"Oh Beth! Poor poor Beth!"


	7. VII

**This story was written in collabortaion with "an ounce of shag tobacco"  
Most of the characters do not belong to either of us.  
This story was inspired by the song "The Watchmaker's apprentice" by "The Clockwork Quartet"**

Thank you for reading! We hope you enjoy, and have feeeeeeels! ;)

PS: please review!  
Thanks!

* * *

Holmes watched her in his cold way, tapping his slender fingers against the wall in a 6/8 time. He waited for her to stop her grieving with impatience.

She noticed his gaze and soon her tears would cease to roll down her cheeks. Watson, who was standing behind Holmes, admired her self control.

"I'm sorry gents. It's my nerves..."

"Understandable Miss Fowler," Homes said. "Is there anything else you need to tell me? Hold no secrets, no little indiscretions, for I shall find out in the end."

"I know. What's enough 's enough, Mr Holmes. This bastard killed my dear sister, God rest her soul. You have to catch him. You have to bring him to court! Please! Tell me that you'll take this curse off me family!"

She went to her knees in despair, and wrung her hands.

"There is no curse," Holmes said. "But a shall do my best to rid you of any inconvenience. However I need your cooperation. Watson, your notebook."

"Yes! Thank you sirs! I will do anything you ask me to!"

"I want the names and addresses of all your known family members written in here." Holmes handed her the notebook and pencil.

The girl's eyes became big. "I...I can't write, sir. I can tell you where they live, but..."

she did not end the sentence.

Holmes gritted his teeth and closed his eyes.

"Tell Dr Watson," He said "and he shall write it down."

"Yes sir." the girl who had before been so quick tempered, had now suddenly become meek and bashful.

When Watson was ready, she began to tell him their adresses.

When she had finished, Holmes snatched the book from her hand and scanned the page.

"Watson, come..." He muttered, pulling John along with him down back through the pub. He stopped by the bar beside the land lady.

"Er, when we first arrived, you said ' especially you sir.' What did you mean?" Holmes enquired.

The woman shrugged.

"I hope you don't mind me saying, sir...but you do look rather pale. I just thought a little drink would do you good."

"pink up my cheeks?"

"If you want to put it so...yes"

"Did it?"

The woman shot Watson a helpless look.

"Holmes..." he gently pulled on his sleeve.

Homes broke his gaze with the women and turned to John.

"Thank you madam, you have been of great service."

As they were outside the public house, Watson blocked Holmes' way. "Why did you ask her this last question? I could also have told you..."

"A trifle Watson."

He stepped aside and shook his head. " I don't understand...but as I know you, it will all make perfect sense at the end of this day."

"Hopefully."

"Where are we going now, Holmes?" Watson asked.

Holmes didn't reply.

As much as he longed to press Holmes against the next wall and yell at him, Watson still kept quiet. He knew that all Holmes needed now was to be treated patiently. Instead of starting a row, the doctor called for a hansom.

"We need to go back to the hotel." Holmes said as they clambered in together. He placed a hand on Watson's knee once they had both sat down.

"I am sorry John."

Watson smiled. Those words were so rare, that Watson valued them higher than any

present in the world. Could he chose between the famous Blue Carbuncle, and a heartfelt apology from Holmes' mouth, he would most likely chose the second.

"It is alright, Sherlock."

"No it's not," Holmes shook his head . "It's not okay. I can see you're getting angry, but there are things I need to keep away from you."

"So? Why? Why can't you tell me? I can understand, that you need some privacy, and. you certainly are free to have your secrets; of course, but I feel that you are keeping something from me that is such a big matter, that it has an effect on our realtionship; and more important, on you. That is not good. I just don't want us to quarrel because of this all the time. Please, get some help. Or let me help you. But I can't promise that I can put up with this much longer. It's too heavy a strain that you put on me. You expect me to be there for you, but how can I, when I don't know what to protect you from? What haunts you so badly, that you cannot even tell ME? That is the only thing I wish to know..."

Holmes sighed and shoved his head into his hands.

"Oh John; the conductor of light and complexer of problems."

"I am sorry... it...I'm just worried. That is all. The only thing I hope to achieve is to get back your old self." Watson's voice had become quite weak and silent.

"So do I." Holmes muttered. "So do I."

Watson spared both of them the words "why don't you tell me then?", but put a soothing hand on Holmes' thigh instead.

"Because everything you mentioned before will happen. Either way it'll happen... Though I hope we'll have a better chance should you not know."

Watson gave a start.

"How did you...?!"

"Did I what?"

"How did you...know what I was thinking?"

"You think with your face."

"Oh, yes. I will never get used to your methods, when they are applied on me..." Watson smiled.

Holmes nodded a little and lay back.

"I fear Brighton shall be of no use to us until morning. If Miss Alice Fowler is dead by sunrise, we can go knowing that our Watchmaker is on the move." He suddenly said in an attempt to change the subject.

"You think he will kill her and not even attempt to catch him red handed?"

Watson exclaimed surprisedly.

Holmes turned away to look at the passing blur of streets.

"Who said I was not going to try?"

Watson smiled. Every fragment of Holmes' "old self" that bubbled up suddenly, but was gone as quickly as it appeared, made him happy. Even if it manifested in only one sentence or gesture.

"Will you tell me your plans?"

"I shan't." Holmes replied as the can came to a stop. "Come along."

"Why this time?" Watson did not even try to keep the surprise out of his voice.

"I want you to stay here, it's safer."

They headed back to their rooms, where Holmes sat at the desk and wrote out a series of telegrams.

The doctor retired to his room, locking the door. He could not refuse that he had enough of his partner's secrecy for one day, and could well use some time on his own; even if this time would be solely filled with sorrow.

It was around midnight that the key to Holmes' room clinked in the lock and his footsteps passed Watson's door, where they stopped. The handle turned, and when access could not be gained, the footsteps carried on down the corridor.

Watson awoke immediately at the sound. He wanted to wish Holmes luck; so he sprang to his feet and ran after him. Assuming that his friend had come farther than he actually did, he knocked him over, landing on top of him.

Holmes frowned at him.

"Here's hoping nobody comes here and sees is like this," he tutted. "What are you doing?"

"Umm...I wanted to wish you luck. And to aak you again, if you have changed your mind. My revolver is loaded, Holmes. I am ready!"

"No John. Now get off me before we get arrested for gross indecency!"

"Alright." Watson did as he was told. "Sorry."

He waited until Holmes was back in his feet.

Holmes dusted down his cost with a sigh.

"Go to bed. I shall be back soon."

"Good luck, my friend..." Watson uttered sadly, and returned to his room.

"Promise you won't come after me." Holmes said before John disappeared completely.

"Me too..." he whispered as the door closed, and he slid down to the floor; back against wood. "Me too..."

Late the next morning Holmes returned alongside a young constable by the name of Evans. They knocked a dull thud against Watson's door, and waited for a reply.

Luckily Watson was already dressed, and ready for breakfast, so he opened the door immediately.

"Good morning. Any news?"

Holmes just looked to the ground and shook his head.

"I'm afraid my efforts were to no avail."

Watson let Holmes in, and wished the constable a good day.

"Have you any clue as to his next steps?"

"Not until I receive replies to my telegrams."

"Alright..." there was a small pause; just enough time for both of their brains to think.

"How are you?" Watson then asked gently, drawing nearer to his companion.

Holmes looked at him wide eyed.

"I'm fine. Very fine." He said quietly.

"Do not believe you are the only one who can read faces. While you use logic, I use empathy." his voice was not threatening; nor was it cold. It was warm, and feeling.

He let out the air from his lungs. "I am sorry. I should rather ask what happened...did he show up in the first place?"

"He did," Holmes began, seating himself on the chair by the desk. "I'm glad you weren't there John."

He was torn between pity and rage, but he didn't know what to do anymore. How to behave? How to calm him? Or not calm

him at all? Confront him with the facts? It was too difficult a desicion, as John could make it. Simply: it was impossible. He was sure that Watson's own insecurity, did not help Holmes in his own sorry state. "Is is alright now. Just try and calm down until the messages arrive. Perhaps you should take a bath..." he knelt down in the floor, in front of Holmes feet and took his hands.

Holmes looked down at him and shook his head.

"Don't pity me John, of all things don't do that. I'm fine, I've seen worse."

"Well, if I may not pity you, let me care for you darling." Watson buried his face in Holmes' hands, which were folded on his lap.


	8. VIII

**This story was written in collabortaion with "an ounce of shag tobacco"  
Most of the characters do not belong to either of us.  
This story was inspired by the song "The Watchmaker's apprentice" by "The Clockwork Quartet"**

Thank you for reading! We hope you enjoy, and have feeeeeeels! ;)

PS: please review!  
Thanks!

* * *

Holmes watched him silently. He moved one hands  
to run through John's hair.

"I'll go and draw a bath for you." He stood up, made a few steps towards the bath room door, but stopped again.  
"Do you...want me to accompany you?"

Holmes shrugged his shoulders abcs waved a hand lazily. "Whatever takes your fancy." He said quietly, standing up and pacing the length of the room.  
"That constable may come back through."

Watson locked the door. "He can wait." he smiled before he entered the bathroom and began to fill the tub.

"He dragged her down to the beach," Holmes said. "He forced her head into the sand."

"Alice? She is dead?" Watson was shocked to hear those dreadful news.

"He held her face beneath the salt water so effortlessly."

"However did he manage to lure her from the attic?"

"He didn't. I did."

Watson knew what that meant. It was Holmes' fault that she was dead; and he was aware of it. Watson knew equally well, that it would pester his friend's conscience like the death of a street urchin; Ross; some two years ago. The next question was obvious; like most of the other emotions written in John's eyes, and his disbelieving expression. WHY SHERLOCK; WHY FOR HEAVEN's SAKE, were the unspoken words that hovered between them.

Holmes stopped pacing and turned to face him.  
"It had to happen anyway."

It was due to the most recent events, that Watson was not really surprised to see that Holmes mourned the escape of the Watchmaker rather than the girl's death. "Well," he told himself, "he might as well have foreseen it."

Holmes ran a hand through his hair and sighed.  
"I need to give this up." He said quietly.

"No...No, my love." Watson returned to his lover, and began to stroke him. "You just need some rest. That is all. Come on now, the bath is ready."

Holmes frowned "I don't need rest."

"Yes, Holmes! You do! There's no denying that." he gently took his hands, and helped him to

get to his feet.

"Come now. There are lavender pleasantries awaiting you."

Holmes smiled.

"You provide faith, John Watson." He said, following him to the bathroom.

The warm water did not only offer relaxation to Holmes body. Watson needed it just as much.

After the ceremony of undressing, they got into the water one after the other. In the tub, their bodies touched; only gentle and slight at first, until they ended up, entangled in each other's arms, seeking comfort. That however, was hard to find.

Holmes held a little tighter then he usually did, his head rested on John's shoulder, his nose beside the scar.

Watson enjoyed the physical contact. Slowly the distance that had grown them, started to fade.

"How have you been?" Holmes asked.

"I know it's not the best topic of conversation, but it is a topic."

"I appreciate that you ask..." Watson hummed.

"I wish I could say that I was fine...but I fear you know the truth.

But please...let us find another, merrier topic..."

Holmes nodded and began to draw circles on Watson's chest. He pondered on what to talk about, but everything seemed so ... Regular.

"I believe we'll be heading north later."

"mmh? Why's that?" Watson replied with half closed eyes

"Scotland?" Watson's eyes opened at once. "Where?"

"The very top," Holmes muttered. "Mr and Mrs Henries live in a small cottage and Mrs Henries is the watchmaker's sister. The only family he has left."

He felt soft lips being pressed against the side of his neck.

"So...you decided not to let go of it...?" Watson asked, almost inaudible.

"Let go of what? Oh, no no no. I need to end it before I leave the game completely."

watson sighed. "Sherlock..."

"Yes John?"

Holmes looked up at him.

"I have made a desicion."

"What about my dear fellow?"

"I've come to the conclusion, that, even though it pains me to see you in a state like this...to support you. I will help you end the matter, whatever the cost. And if you wish to keep it from me; so be it."

Another sigh.

Holmes opened his mouth to speak, but no words appeared. He lifted himself on his arms so he look at John properly and nodded.

"I only hope it was the right choice..."

"I will tell you eventually."

Watson's only reply was a little hum, before he began to stroke Holmes' chest.

Holmes smiled and kissed him.

"I ought to get out should my telegram answer arrive."

"No..." Watson shook his head. "I'll tell them to slip it under the door."

Holmes sighed.

"You'll have to shout to them." He sighed.

"You can do that...as long as you stay here with me."

Holmes lay back down, immersing himself in the warmth of the water. At the same time, he wanted to be away from the water, away from Watson and in some ways, away from himself.

Watson's wishes were far less dramatic; if just as impossible at the time being. He longed for home. He yearned for the cracking of the fire in his own; THEIR own chimney, and a merry christmas carol from his lover's violin. Over the hectic of the past few days, he had completely forgotten about chrsitmas. It felt so wrong; inappropriate. and yet, it were only four days until the event.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. They ignored it at first, expecting it to be the telegrams, until a timid voice came through the door.

"Mr Holmes... It's me, PC Smith."

Watson sighed and nodded, as a sign for Holmes, that it was alright if he wanted to leave now.

Holmes placed a kiss on his cheek as he reached for his dressing gown.

"Please excuse me "

"Don't be too long!" Watson chimed After Holmes with a broad smile.

Holmes disappeared from sight. For ten minutes a soft murmur came from the next room, followed by the click of the door.

"John!" Came a cry. "John we need to go!"

Luckily, he had already left the tub, and was muddling into his clothes. However his heartbeat quickened considerably when he heart the urgent connotation in his friend's voice.

Holmes rushed into the room. "Start packing ..." He said

"I'm hurrying, Holmes!

Just- tell me what happened?!"

Watson replied, almost tripping over his waistcoat, that was lying on the

floor.

"Smith told me that they saw our man on the platform waiting for a train to the highlands."

Watson finished dressing. He realised now, that it was a good idea to train himself not to take too much luggage, and only to take the most important items with him, when traveling with Sherlock Holmes. It was a technique he had learned in his military days. John chuckled ironically as he understood the odd connection. Now, he had only to take his hat, scarf and coat, and

off they went.


	9. IX

**This story was written in collabortaion with "an ounce of shag tobacco"  
Most of the characters do not belong to either of us.  
This story was inspired by the song "The Watchmaker's apprentice" by "The Clockwork Quartet"**

Thank you for reading! We hope you enjoy, and have feeeeeeels! ;)

PS: please review!  
Thanks!

* * *

The station was full of travellers leaving and arriving; to get away from family or to escape them for the Christmas period. Steam filled the platforms as various train rolled in, their doors opening to let out a wave of passengers into Brighton. Holmes leant against the wall to the ticket office with a cigarette between his thin lips, leaking smoke into the cold air to linger with the breath of the other people waiting for the 2:15 train to *.

*wherever the place they are going

They had to wait some time until the arrival of the train. It was of course Watson who had to pay the tickets. He did so, under protest. When the train finally arrived, he was glad. A long journey on the train...much time to talk some points over.

They had a cosy first class carriage to themselves that provided them with privacy to discuss

Watson sighed.

Holmes eyed him from the opposite seat.  
"I'm sorry about this little holiday being cut short." He said, as he leaned across and patted his friends knee.

Watson looked up and grinned. "Oh, do  
not worry my dear chap. I don't think it as ended. Just...moved. "To Scotland.

Holmes smiled weakly as the whistle blew and the train began to heave its huge bulk out of the station.

"Hmmm I love train journeys..." Watson mused, looking out of the window.

"I appreciate the peace, but the travelling brings back memories."

"Indeed." Watson returned with a smile.

"Not necessarily the ones we've had together. I travelled alot as a child."

"Really? You never told me..."

Holmes nodded and sighed.  
"I suppose you want to know now." He said.

"well only if you wish to tell me../"

"Well I shall tell you a little of my childhood. As you know, I was born on the 6th of January 1854, a few months after the Crimean had started. My father went off fighting and died in the March of the same year. We were well off until this happened as it revealed the debts my father built and we were bankrupt. Thus this strain had a huge impact in my mother's health to the point that she hanged herself from the beams in the kitchen two years later."

Watson listened with the greatest attention; and understanding that Holmes had never spoke of those events before.

"My Grandmere Vernet heard of this news and had me and Mycroft sent to her immediately. We spent three years with her until her health deteriorated and my uncle Seebham ordered he provide us funding for school. I didn't speak until I was five, John. My Grandmere believed it to be because I discovered my mother, doctors thought it because I was an idiot."

Watson was mortified. He did not know what to say. Silently, he sat looking at his companion. He tried hard to keep the pity out of his eyes.

Holmes sighed and looked out at the passing landscape.  
"I try to avoid thinking about my time with Uncle Seebham, Aunt Agatha and..." He paused. "Cousin Ophelia."

"What...what about her..?" Watson asked cautiously.

"She died very young..."


End file.
